


Even children get older

by Apuzzlingprince



Series: IT Fanfics [9]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Growing Up is Hard, M/M, Theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 17:55:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12612156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: The chime of his phone jarred Bill out of his slumber; he’d selected the lengthiest and most obnoxious ringtone possible to always ensure he woke up if work called. It was not the dulcet tones of his manager, however, that he picked up to, but the sound of a voice he hadn’t heard in a good two years.“Heya Bill.”Richie is going down a dark path. Bill is there to pull him back up.





	Even children get older

The chime of his phone jarred Bill out of his slumber; he’d selected the lengthiest and most obnoxious ringtone possible to always ensure he woke up if work called. It was not the dulcet tones of his manager, however, that he picked up to, but the sound of a voice he hadn’t heard in a good two years.

“Heya Bill.”

Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, Bill rose onto his elbows and adjusted his grip on his nokia, pressing it harder to his ear. The shrill cry of his ringtone continued to reverberate in his head as he forced himself out of his lethargy.

“Richie?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Sorry to call you so late.”

Bill glanced at the digital clock on his bedside table. 2:42 flashed back at him. He hoped his manager didn’t call to ask him to cover a shift, because he doubted he’d be well-rested enough to do so after his conversation with Richie, even if he went straight back to bed.

“Something wrong?” he asked, stifling a yawn and curling up on his side.

“Actually, yeah.”

“Well, I assume it’s serious, or you wouldn’t have called me at bumfuck o’clock.” He wiped a hand down his face. Richie had often called him in the early hours of the morning as kids, when they’d been close, if not _best_ friends, but that had been a very long time ago. They hadn’t exchanged a word in well over two years, both busy with work and college. Barely any of the Losers saw each other anymore. Relationships between preteens weren’t meant to last long.

“I need some help,” Richie said. The note of worry in his voice troubled Bill. It wasn’t a tone Richie often affected. It took some serious event to bring down his chipper façade. “I- I, uh. I need you to come to the police station.”

Bill frowned, though he knew Richie couldn’t see it. “Why? Did someone try to mug you or something? Are you alright?”

“Er, that’s not… not quite what happened.” A long pause. “Listen, I’ll tell you everything, but you have to promise me you’ll still pick me up, okay?”

“Richie…” Bill slid his phone to his opposite ear. “Why didn’t you call your parents? Whatever it is, I’m sure they would understand.”

“Trust me, they wouldn’t. We’ve been through this once already.” He heard Richie sigh. “Just promise me, Bill.”

“Fine. I promise.”

“Thanks.” Another sigh, this time of relief. “Long story short, I committed a crime and got caught.”

This claim was so unbelievable that, for a moment, Bill considered the possibility that this was a prank. But then, if it _was_ a prank, it wasn’t a very good one, and it wasn’t Richie’s usual style. He’d played Bill for a fool and convinced him he’d died on two occasions and been grievously ill on another, but his pranks had never lasted for more than a few minutes. Richie couldn’t keep his voice sombre for long enough to maintain a lengthy prank. Five was the longest he’d gone without breaking into giggles and they’d already passed that mark.

“Well,” he said slowly, drawing out the word. He paused to consider what Richie had just told him. “It must not have been a very serious crime if they’re letting you go.”

“They aren’t,” said Richie, awkwardly. “The people involved aren’t pressing any serious charges, but I still have to pay a fine if I want to leave.”

“…You want _me_ to pay that fine, I’m guessing.”

“I’ll pay you back! I just can’t afford it right now.”

Bill massaged his temple with his middle and pointer fingers. “What exactly did you do?”

“I…” He stuttered on his words almost as badly as Bill used to. Whatever Richie had done, he seemed to be ashamed of it. “I tried to rob a place.”

Bill’s eyebrows shot up. Any remaining drowsiness he’d had was driven away by this admittance. He’d never taken Richie for a thief. While they had stolen a couple of things in their youth, it’d always been out of necessity, and they had stopped that long before reaching adulthood.

“You mean like… you broke a window and stepped inside? That sort of robbing?”

“Yeah…”

“Wow.” Bill sat upright in bed, throwing his legs over the side of his mattress. He ought to start getting dressed since Richie was expecting him. Thief or not, he wasn’t going to leave Richie to rot in a jail cell overnight.

“Yeah, ‘wow’. Turns out the place I robbed had a silent alarm. I got caught before I’d even left the building.”

“I want to say ‘that sucks’, but you kind of _deserved_ that, Richie.”

“I know.”

Bill located a passable smelling pair of jeans and crushed the phone between his ear and shoulder as he pulled them on. “I thought you were pretty gung-ho about the whole Christian and seven commandments thing. Haven’t looked at the commandments in a while, but I’m pretty sure ‘thou should not steal’ is in there somewhere.”

“’Shall’ not steal, but you’re not wrong. I’m never been a very good Christian, anyway. Way too much blasphemous swearing.” A snort. “Who can blame me, though? ‘Goddamn it’ and ‘Jesus Christ’ are just so satisfying to use.”

“What do they call it? Taking the lords name in vain or something?”

“Yeah, and I’d love to continue talking about blasphemy at God, but I’ve used up my ten minutes.” He heard the receiver being dropped onto its cradle – and was startled when Richie’s voice came yelling through his speaker again. “Wait! You are coming to pick me up, right?”

“I am,” said Bill, already pulling on a suitably warm t-shirt and jacket. It was the middle of winter and Bill had no intention of venturing out in anything less than three layers. “You’d better give me the long version of the story when I get there.”

“Will do,” said Richie, and hung up. Bill waited a few seconds to see if Richie would start speaking again before doing the same. He threw his phone into his jacket pocket and sat down on the end of his bed, pulling on his boots. There was likely to be some frost on the roads at this time of night. He’d have to drive carefully so to not lose control of his car. Not that there were many people out for him to go crashing into. On winter weekends, in the early hours of the morning, most denizens of Derry were wise enough to be asleep. 

He raked a comb through his hair and splashed his face with warm water to make himself moderately presentable before he ventured out, hopping down the steps (there was no elevator, though one had been highly requested) and to the carpark attached to his apartment complex. He’d lived there long enough to have a park plated with his name.

Sliding into his ute – a vehicle he had purchased off the Hanlon’s – Bill freed the park break and backed out of the carpark, tearing into the brightly lit streets beyond. To the council’s credit, they hadn’t skimped on the lighting. Every few meters there was a streetlamp illuminating his path, ensuring he scarcely needed to use his headlights.

There was nary a car to be seen throughout his journey to the police station. All vehicles he did see were stationary. If one wanted excitement, they had to venture deeper into the city, to the street corners with fast food joints and nightclubs that remained open through the day and night. This part of Derry was too close to the suburbs to ever receive such late-night attention.

If not for the occasional pedestrian loitering on stoops, Bill would have felt as though he was the only one awake in this part of Derry. Even then, the sightings of people were few and far between.

He came to a stop in front of the police station and parked on the side of the road. Bill had only stepped foot inside once in his life, and that was to file the missing person’s report for Georgie. They never had found the body.

He gazed across the street at what little he could see of the building. It hadn’t changed at all since that one grim day he had been guided inside by his parents and instructed to tell a kind, if porky policeman where he had last seen Georgie and if Georgie had any reason to run off. The sense of déjà vu that washed over Bill when he made an approach was more like hooks in his spine than the standard prickle of recognition.

Bill stepped inside. The interior was brightly lit and warm. Bill didn’t recall the warmth from his youth. He’d been cold the entire time he’d been inside. Every part of him had been cold, and shaky, and numb, and he’d barely felt the ground under his tiny feet as he trudged through the lobby after the hulking form of the man on Georgie’s case.

He stepped up to the counter and forced himself to smile. A man smiled up at him, nursing a steaming cup of coffee.

“I’m here for Richie Tozier.”

“Oh, good,” said the man, withdrawing a clipboard and piece of paper from under his desk. He slid it across the counter to bill. “Grab a pen from the cup to your left.”

Bill did as he was instructed. “I’m also going to be paying his fee,” he added. “Do I need different paperwork for that?”

Eyebrows jetting up, the man handed him an additional bit of paper. “The fee’s a little over five hundred dollars. You can either pay it in full, or pay half and provide the rest in instalments.”

Five hundred dollars was a little more than Bill had been anticipating. Still, he couldn’t leave Richie to swelter in his own misery and filth overnight. He would just have to work a few extra shifts while Richie worked on paying him back.

“Paying in full will be fine,” he told the man, and proceeded to stand at the counter and fill in all the necessary paperwork. When he was done, he was five hundred dollars short and ready to acquire a man he hadn’t seen in two years. It was sure to be an awkward reunion, considering the circumstances, but Bill was growing enthusiastic thinking about reconnecting with Richie. He had missed the man, and all the Losers, for that matter, and would have sought them out voluntarily had he more time to do so. Between work and study, he just wasn’t able to maintain much of a social life.

Richie came out with his head bowed, his glasses wrapped around the end of his nose. He’d grown taller, thicker, and had some dark peach fuzz on his chin and top lip. His shoulders were broader than bill remembered. His hands were bigger, too, and his eyes bagged in a way that made him appear much older than he was.

Bill had retained much of his own youth, to his frustration. He was still carded when buying alcohol.

Richie offered him a meagre smile. “Long time, no see, stuttering Bill.”

“I don’t stutter anymore,” said Bill, gesturing for Richie to follow him outside. “I haven’t in at least a year, now. I just have to talk slow.”

“Bet that annoys your customers,” said Richie. “I hear you work at a gas station now.”

“A couple of times a week,” said Bill, shrugging a shoulder. They passed through the exit side by side. “I mostly do night shifts. I get weekends off, though, and I usually use those to study if I’m not called in to cover someone’s shift.”

“They call you in on your day off?”

“I don’t mind. It’s extra money.” Bill hopped down the stairs and guided Richie over to his car, inviting him into the passenger seat. “Speaking of which, why would _you_ ever need to steal? Last I checked, your parents were pretty well off.”

“It wasn’t about having no money,” replied Richie in a mutter. He scuffed the soles of his boots on the frost laden asphalt. “It’s not important. What’s important is that I’m never going to do it again.”

Bill frowned. “I thought you said you would give me the long version of the story?”

“I know I did, but I just…” Richie trailed off into silence.

“You can tell me what’s wrong, Richie,” said Bill. “I won’t judge you.”

Richie diverted his gaze. “I can tell you who and what, but ‘why’ is a little personal.” He waved a hand dismissively. “We haven’t spoken in two years, and we barely saw each other before that, and I’m… I’m not really… comfortable with divulging that. I haven’t spoken to any of the Losers in ages.”

Bill blanched. “Sure, we haven’t spoken in a while, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t all still friends.”

“How? It’s been ages since we’ve hung out.”

“Two years isn’t that long.”

Richie frowned, forearms crossing. “Bill, you never tried to contact me. That hurts a little, considering how close we were.”

“What do you mean I-“ Bill spluttered. He threw up his hands, gesticulating wildly at an impassive Richie. “ _You_ never contacted _me_! Why should I have to be the one who makes the first move? I have school and work – what about you? If you don’t have the money to pay for your own fees, I’m assuming _neither_.”

“What do you mean, ‘you assume neither’?” asked Richie coolly. “Just because I don’t have enough money now doesn’t mean I’m not employed or studying.”

“Well, sorry for assuming, but you _did_ just rob a store, and now you’re _deliberately_ not telling me why.” He took a step forward, a snarl on his lips. “And not that I mind, because I’m your goddamn friend, but I just paid five hundred dollars to bail your sorry ass out of jail, so you could show a little gratitude instead of being such an ass!”

“Oh, so I’m an ass for wanting a little privacy,” Richie snapped back. “Thank you, but I’m not obligated to tell you anything!”

“It’s not that, and you know it isn’t!” Bill shot back. “I’m upset because I still considered us friends and I-“ His voice cracked. “I missed you, and I thought we could reconnect, and instead you’re pissed at me for something you’re equally as guilty of!”

Whatever resolve Richie’d had, it crumpled at Bill’s cracking voice, his face drooping miserably. His shoulders sagged forward and Richie ran a hand through his messy black hair, the scrape of his nails over his scalp audible. A low groan tumbled out of his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve just been so lonely without you guys. I guess I made myself bitter by thinking about it.”

Bill leaned against the door of his car, regarding Richie’s crushed form with sympathy. “Why didn’t you contact us? We would’ve made time for you.”

 “I didn’t think you’d want to see me. I mean… I’m a real fuckup now, you know?” When Richie chuckled, it was a sound absent of humour. “Stealing and drinking all the time. Even my parents are disappointed in me, and they’ve been nothing but supportive my whole life.” He dropped his hands away from his hair and shoved them into his coat pockets. “I’ve become one of those shitheads we used to hate as kids.”

“You’re _nothing_ like Bowers,” said Bill, scowling. “He hurt people out of malice.”

“I don’t know if I’m any better,” said Richie quietly. “I steal things. That’s people’s _livelihoods_.”

“It’s not _that_ bad.”

“Yeah it is, Bill. Don’t sugar-coat it for me.” Richie joined Bill in leaning against his ute, wiping his palms over his eyes. In the dark, it was hard to say if he was crying or just weary. “It just – it just felt good every time I got away with it, so I kept on doing it, stealing bigger things. Between that and alcohol, it was the only time I felt okay.” He gave a sniff. “I know that’s no fucking excuse, but it’s the only excuse I have.”

“It’s an explanation,” Bill corrected him, speaking gently and leaning closer, his hand settling over Richie’s trembling shoulder. “You’re allowed to have an explanation. Everyone does for the things they do.”

“I’m sorry I’m like this.” He brushed his cool fingers over Bill’s. They were so long and nimble. Bill remembered them being that way as kids, the only part of Richie that hadn’t been small and clumsy. “I wish this could have happened some other way.”

“So do I,” said Bill. “But this is what we have to work with, so let’s make something of it.” He turned Richie enough to smile up at him. “Let’s go back to my place. We’ll have some hot chocolate and chat and set up some visits.” He glanced up at the sky, at the grey clouds gathering around the moon. “It looks like it’s going to storm soon, anyway.”

Richie cracked a smile, finally. “You don’t mind? Because my place isn’t that far from here.”

“I don’t mind,” Bill assured him, and opened the passenger door to his ute to invite him inside. It would start raining soon. He intended both of them to be sitting in his apartment before then.

Richie slid in and closed the door. “Thanks, Bill,” he said, his voice very quiet and thick with emotion.

The drive back to his apartment was just as quiet and uneventful as the drive to the police station. They made idle conversation about the weather, family, work, and school, and Bill found out Richie did casual work in gardening to pay his way through a multimedia degree. Richie longed to host his own talk show like David Letterman or Chevy Chase.

“I’d finally have use for my voices aside from annoying people,” he told Bill. “Though that would only be one segment.”

Rain was pitter-pattering on the roof of the apartment complex when they pulled into the car park. Bill guided Richie up the stairs and to his unit, shunting off his coat the moment he was through the door. He threw it onto his coatrack and gestured for Richie to do the same. The heating in the apartment was effective enough that one couldn’t bear to wear more than a thin shirt and loose trousers while it was active.

While Richie was shedding his own outer layer, he turned the thermostat up a few notches and retrieved a tin of chocolate powder from the cupboard. Richie joined him in the kitchen sans his coat and shoes.

“We can sit in my lounge,” said Bill, pouring milk into a bowl and placing it in the microwave. He couldn’t be bothered drawing out a pot and heating it that way. The finished product tasted about the same, anyway.

“Sure,” murmured Richie, looking around. “Nice place. Could use some more colour, though.”

Bill surveyed his cream walls. That was true, but he could hardly put up wallpaper when he didn’t own the place. “I’ll do that when I get my own house.” Before continuing, he retrieved a packet of miniature marshmallows from his pantry and tore it open. “My landlord doesn’t even let me put blu tack or nails in the walls. All my photos have to be in those stand frames.”

“You could buy a couple hundred lava lamps. That’ll liven up the place.”

Bill snorted. “I’d be in a perpetual state of unease, being surrounded by floating blobs of wax, but feel free to do that yourself when you get your own place. I might even visit, as long as you don’t expect me to stay long.”

“Fat chance of me doing that, as amazing as it sounds.” Richie laughed. “Can you imagine the power bill?”

“Shorted horror story ever.”

“Oh, hey. Do you still write those?” Richie sat at the table and leaned his chin on his hand, watching Bill while Bill brought the milk out of the microwave and carefully poured it into two massive mugs. “I remember you working on some story about a kid-hunting alien as kids. How’d that go?”

“Still a work in progress,” he said, adding two big helpings of chocolate powder to the milk. He stirred them briefly and threw in a handful of marshmallows. Another handful of marshmallows went into Bill’s mouth. What could he say? He was peckish.

They brought their mugs into the lounge room and sat down on the settee. The air was already toasty from the heater. It never took long for this particular room to heat up, as this was where the heater was located. Bill made himself comfortable by draping his legs over Richie’s lap.

The thrum of rain falling outside unsettled Bill. Provided he was inside when it happened, rain wasn’t so bad, but it did tend to remind him off the day he’d lost Georgie. That was two features of that catastrophe he’d had to face today and it made the ordeal prominent in his mind.

“Do you ever miss being kids?” asked Richie, taking a sip of his hot cocoa.

“Some parts,” said Bill. “Being able to spend all day playing, for starters.”

Richie smiled fondly. “Things were simpler back then,” he murmured. “No work, no thinking about a career; just riding around on our bikes all day.” He took another sip of his drink, licking his lips before he swallowed. “It was so much easier to make friends, too.”

“Being an adult isn’t so bad,” said Bill, shrugging. “You have more freedom.”

“I’m not very good at handling ‘more freedom’.”

“Evidently.” Bill offered a kind smile. “But you already know what you want to do, eventually. Once you get that off the ground, you’ll be glad for that freedom.”

Richie laughed and nodded. “You always have _something_ reassuring to say, Bill. I always liked that about you. Good leadership quality.”

Bill’s cheeks warmed. “I don’t know if I was that good a leader. I didn’t manage to keep us together.”

“People just drift away as they get older, I guess,” said Richie. “I think, out of everyone, losing you hurt the most.” A beat of silence. “I always thought the world of you. Still do.”

“I’m sorry,” said Bill quietly. He would have to keep in mind to contact the other Losers later this week. A chat with them was long due.

“Nah, it’s not your fault,” said Richie, shrugging. “Like you said, I didn’t try to contact you either, and friendship is a two-way street.”

“Still…” Bill took a gulp of his drink and leaned his head against the armrest. “Sometimes I think I grew up too fast. I felt like an adult at twelve, thinking about my future – everyone’s futures, and because I was so focused on that, I just… let everyone drift away.” The rainfall was getting heavier. “It used to scare me, knowing I was growing up so fast, but one day it stopped scaring me, and that was that.”

Richie regarded him sadly. “You grew up too fast, I stayed young too long.”

“What a pair we make,” said Bill, his tone wry. He set his cup of cocoa aside and fished between the couch cushions for the television remote. There wouldn’t be much on at this time, but he figured he should at least give Richie the option to watch something instead of indulging Bill in gloomy conversation.

“So, we’re a pair again?” asked Richie, sounding hopeful.

“That’s what I said,” said Bill. He could use some social contacts that weren’t work colleagues.

Richie beamed. “In that case, there’s that two-week holiday, soon. We should do something.”

“Like what?”

“Like a road trip!”

“A road trip?” Bill hesitated. Last he’d ventured beyond the town, he’d been ten and on a family holiday. He didn’t know how he’d cope with being away for that long. “I’ve never so much as been to the beach, Richie,” he said, digging out the remote and tossing it to Richie, who snatched it out of the air. “I don’t know if I could handle a road trip.”

“Sure you could!” crowed Richie, turning on the television and lowering the volume until it was just barely audible. “Besides, I went on a road trip on my own a few years back and it was _great_.”

“Did your parents go with you?”

“Nah, but they paid for everything. It was a graduation gift.”

“Nice,” said Bill, though he was a little envious. His parents hadn’t even attended the celebration ceremony. Busy with work, or some other excuse. He couldn’t quite recall. He’d been too angry to pay them much mind.

“I’ll work extra hours so I can pay for both of us,” said Richie, and Bill’s eyes widened.

“You don’t have to do that-!”

“I want to,” said Richie, insistent. “I owe you, remember?”

“But fuel, and food, and shelter – it could cost an awful lot.” It would be a huge gift, the first big gift Bill had received in a very long time. Accepting it seemed greedy. “At least let me pay for half.”

“Nuh uh.” Richie shook his head. “You paid to get me out of jail. Paying your way on a trip is the least I can do.”

“But, I mean…”

“No more buts, Bill. I’m taking you on a road trip.” Richie leaned close enough to tap Bill on the nose. “And I’m paying for you.”

Bill swatted away his hand, scowling playfully. “Sounds like I don’t have a choice.”

“Damn right you don’t,” said Richie, sidling in closer and flinging an arm around Bill, giving him a squeeze. “Besides, I’m dying to get out of this town. I’ve been cooped up in here _way_ too long.”

“I can tell.” Bill quirked a lip. “Speaking of being cooped up… where d’you want to sleep? I don’t have a spare bedroom, so it’s either my couch or my bed.”

“You’d give me your bed?” Richie scoffed and gave Bill a gentle ribbing. “Bill, come on! Stop being so damn perfect!”

“I can’t help it,” said Bill teasingly. “It’s just my nature.”

“We could share your bed,” suggested Richie, wagging his eyebrows. To that suggestion, Bill’s cheeks turned red and he tittered nervously. He wouldn’t have much minded sharing a bed with Richie, if he was honest.

“Seriously?”

“Nah, I’m just kidding you,” said Richie, speaking quickly and dislodging his grip. He grinned lopsidedly at Bill. “I’ll take the couch. You go get some rest in a bed.”

Bill couldn’t help being a little disappointed. “Alright.” He gulped down the remainder of his now-tepid cocoa and rose to prepare for bed.

He’d already peeled off his shoes and jacket by the time he reached his bedroom door, and he kicked off his trousers on his way through the threshold. After checking his clock – it was now twenty to five – Bill crawled under the covers and closed his eyes. He curled a pillow over his ear so he wouldn’t have to listen to the rainfall outside.

Sleep came to him, eventually, but it was fitful and filled with memories of paper boats, bloody water and a screaming child. Bill tossed and turned beneath his covers, groaning softly in his slumber, his sweaty hands fisted around his pillow. His expression grew pinched and his breaths heavy. The rain outside continued to fall with increased vigour, joined soon by thunder and lightning that shook Bill awake.

He never could sleep well during storms.

He remained lying in bed, listening to the wind howl and the rains batter the side of the building and the thunder cracking along the skyline. It was only when he heard his floorboards creak that he rolled over.

Richie had stepped into the room and was now staring at him awkwardly through the dark.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he whispered. “I heard you, uh… making sounds, and I thought you might like some company.”

“So you weren’t joking about us sharing a bed, huh?”

Though it was dark, Bill could see the red on Richie’s cheeks. “Not exactly,” Richie said, lowering himself to the edge of Bill’s bed. “Mind if I join you?”

They had shared a bed regularly as kids, and Bill had always enjoyed it. It was reassuring to have a warm body next to you at night, especially during winter. He raised the covers in invitation.

Richie lay down next to him and tentatively wrapped his arms around Bill’s waist. Bill didn’t protest.

“Guess we ought to get used to this,” mumbled Bill. “Since there isn’t going to be much room if we’re sleeping in the car on the road trip.”

Richie laughed softly. “I figured we could take my dad’s old camper van, but knowing you’re willing to share a bed saves me some trouble.”

“Why? Does it only have one?”

“It had two, but dad removed the second one so there’d be more room.”

Bill could feel Richie’s breath on the back of his neck. He swallowed. “It’ll be nice, sleeping with you.” He winced at his own phrasing. “God, that sounded way dumber than I meant it to.”

“I don’t know about dumb, but there’s a pretty obvious double entendre.” Richie chuckled, his breath warm on Bill’s skin. “If it’s any consolation, I like the idea of sleeping with you just as much. We’re gonna need the body heat, considering how cold it is.”

“Ah, a practical purpose.” But it sounded more like an excuse than anything else.

“Mhm,” mumbled Richie. The cold tip of his nose touched Bill’s neck. Bill shivered, but didn’t move. “I hope you like being the little spoon, because that’s what I’m going to insist upon,” Richie continued. “You’re the perfect size.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re small.”

“Don’t make me hit you, because I will.”

Richie snorted. “With your tiny fists? Good luck.”

Bill made a vague gesture at Richie with a fist and closed his eyes, pressing his face into the give of his pillow. “Just go to sleep, jackass,” he muttered. “It’s way past my bedtime.”

“You _still_ have a bedtime?”

“Shut it, Trashmouth.”

“Sure thing, Stuttering Bill.”


End file.
